Famous Last Words
by Crimson Firebreeze
Summary: One Shot: Sibylla wakes up alone, the bed beside her cold. When he finally does come back he is only tender for a fleeting moment before shifting back to that of the cold assassin that she is so familiar with.


_okay okay okay a little confusing. This actually takes place after "Thae Master's Novice" but before "Taken from Me". I know it's all a bit weird and there are huge gaps in the timeline, so I shall fill you in on what is happening in the RPs:_

_At the end of the last story, Altair left the Jerusalem bureau without warning and returned to Masyaf. Immediately before this story takes place, Altair has returned to Jerusalem to fetch Alice and Sibylla and take them with him to Damascus to help him get into Abu'l Nuquoud's party. What you dont read about is the injury that Alice sustains when Altair attempts to take Sibylla on the fountain after she has gotten out of bed to get some water, to make up for the argument before his departure the last time he was there. Sibylla pulls his own throwing knife on him and he takes it from her and throws it over his shoulder and nails Alice, who has just had a fight with Malik, in the foot. Altair takes Sibylla, after being ordered away by Malik, and they depart for Damascus. Upon arrival, Sibylla finally admits to Altair that she does love him and she allows him to bed her._

_Before you all get mad at me, thes one shots are meant as teasers for my friend's story. She asked me to write these to keep her inspired. I will be working on my own project eventually._

_Now enjoy!_

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Sibylla pried her sleep sticky eyes open, squinting at the sunlight in the room. She hadn't gotten a good look at the inn last night, for she was a bit on the unconscious side. She made a mental note to never fall asleep on horseback again. How she had managed to sleep at all on the stallion as he ran at a full gallop to Damascus, she would never know. Her thighs still ached from the long ride, having never been astride a horse for long amounts of time before.

The smell of blood was in the air and immediately she froze, listening. She heard nothing. A quick glance at her hand told her where the smell came from, dried blood streaked over her fingers. And then she remembered, the pit of her stomach falling out and a dark blush creeping up her neck and cheeks. The reason for the inn, the blood on her hands, and probably her thighs as well, and the reason why she was naked. But where was he? She didn't need to look to know that the bed beside her was empty, his warmth long gone from the sheets, but his scent lingering still.

His masculine scent threatened to overtake her. The memories doing worse, charging her body for another go at him; one that he promised would hurt less, feel better. Despite the pain, she had enjoyed herself. His strong arms had cradled her as he moved rather violently within her, his lips kissing away tears that fell from her eyes, every one of his muscles tensing under his dark skin as he claimed her and made her his own.

She shivered and sat up. Her neck was sore from sleeping awkwardly and she reached up and massaged a tense muscle. Her fingers brushed over large half-moon scars where her neck curved into her shoulder, a permanent reminder of just who she belonged to. She had hated him that day when he marked her and she was positive that he hated her too, though for an entirely different reason. That day, he had confessed his part in Kadar's death, the loss of Malik's arm… everything. And yet, he had held her as she had sobbed uncontrollably, mourning the loss of her betrothed all over again. He had even let her take her wrath out on him, hitting him and punching him weakly until, exhausted, she lay against him, and eerie calm keeping her in place against his chest. How is it that she had come to love a man that she had hated with such a passion?

"Altair," she called softly into the quiet of the room. He didn't answer. Not even the rustling of his white robes answered her. This disturbed her. He wouldn't leave her behind to go to the bureau, would he? Not when he was so adamant that she accompany him here. It would not make any sense. She looked down at her hands and wondered how his own hand was fairing. He had broken his knuckles before departing from Jerusalem. Her thoughts shifted to Alice and her foot. Was she okay? Was Malik able to handle it on his own? Should she have risked his wrath to say goodbye to her dear friend? It was a mere accident. Altair had no idea that she had been behind him when he tossed the blade.

The faintest of rustling noises reached her and she turned swiftly, her hand ready to connect with a nose. Altair caught her wrist in his fist before she connected with his face. There was a smirk on his lips and she couldn't help but glare at him and blush as his eyes traveled over her still naked body. When those golden flecked eyes met hers again, they held a look of satisfaction. After a moment, he released her wrist and she moved to cover herself with the blankets as he pushed his hood off.

"You were going to break my nose," he hissed, though his tone did not sound as if he was scolding her.

"A blade isn't an assassin's only weapon," she snapped back, embarrassed that he had caught her so off guard.

"Very good," came his husky growl of a response. "You have been paying attention."

"It is difficult not to when I have both you and Malik for teachers."

She could _feel _Altair smirk without looking at him. She had been around him enough to memorize his every movement, habit and quirk, aside from the fact that that was what she was supposed to do as his apprentice. What she was not expecting, however, was the hand that that rested on her thigh. She was not accustomed to his small displays of affection. Normally with him, it was all coldness and a beating or two. At least he didn't coddle her like Malik did at times.

She stared at his hand for a long time. Despite how many times he had seen it, his missing ring finger still looked so odd and foreign to her. A deep sadness filled her then. How would he marry when he retired? He could wear no ring to symbolize his eternal vows. What woman would be willing to tolerate it, or rather, what woman would want to live with a former assassin? For all his charm, the fact that he was capable of killing without a second thought was disturbing, even to her. But perhaps it bugged her so much because she knew what happened in Solomon's Temple. Would she ever overcome that?

"Little girl," he said softly, bringing her attention back to him.

She met his eyes and her breath caught in her throat. Those chocolate eyes still held all that intensity that they always had, but there was something else in them that she had never seen before. She couldn't name it, nor did she want to try. She just knew that whatever it was, it was good thing. It was made even better as he pressed his lips to hers softly in a timid kiss. This was rather odd to her since he was usually so demanding and dominant when he kissed her. It was then that she knew that things were different now.

"I love you," she said softly against his lips. He had said it a million times over last night, but she wanted, needed to hear him say it outside the heat of passion. She had to make sure that he meant it.

"And I you, my little girl," he replied, his arms encircling her, pulling her against him into a deeper, but still gentle kiss.

Liquid fire pooled in her stomach and he knew she was ready for him again. It was quite clear that he wanted her too. As rough hands slid over her skin, sending one shiver after another through her, she vaguely wondered if they would have the time before reporting to the bureau. He groaned as she ran her fingers through his hair at the back of his neck and held her tighter. His lips moved down her neck and his teeth sank into her skin right over the scar he had left her with, causing her body to go rigid against him.

"Al- Altair…" she gasped, a moan coloring her voice.

Much to her dismay, he stopped and looked at her. His breathing was heavy and there was lust in his eyes, but she saw the internal struggle he was having and frowned. She wanted him to take her, damn the mission. She wanted to hit him for hesitating. She thought she would die from this need to have him be one with her again, to feel his arms holding her, to see him lose control again. Knowing he wanted all of it too made it that much harder to silence her body's ache for him.

Altair's eyes took on their cold countenance and he moved away from her. Her heart sank as she watched him transform from devoted lover to master assassin. She shivered at the change she saw and wondered how he could do it. He reached over to the window where he must have come in from and picked up a pile of dark gray material.

"Here," he said, the growl back in his voice. "I repaired them while you slept."

It took a minute but Sibylla realized that he was holding her pants. He had ripped a hole in them the night before, which peeved her greatly. She took them from him and got up, dressing in her own white robes quickly. By the time she had finished, he had already pulled his hood back over his eyes, like a mask. She moved over to him, getting the last strands of her hair tied back, when she was ready to go and he regarded her for a long minute as if inspecting her. That was exactly what he was doing, ensuring everything was in place, right down to her throwing knives. After a moment he nodded in approval and she moved closer to him, going up on tiptoe to kiss him. He turned his face away from her and she felt the sting of his coldness. He was in killing mode, and there was no room for tenderness here.

"We are pressed for time," he said shortly, though there was an undertone in his voice that she picked out, as if he disliked being this way right now.

Sibylla sighed and pulled her own hood on and waited for his command. Altair stood still for a long moment and she watched him, perplexed by his behavior. If they were so pressed for time, shouldn't they be on their way now? When he looked at her, those dark brown orbs focused on her like an eagle watching its prey. It was unsettling and it took all she had not to flinch beneath his stare.

"After the mission... I promise," said Altair. "If not before, then after we return to Jerusalem."

With that, he turned and crawled out the window. She stood silent for a minute before following him. Once on the roof of the inn, a hot wind hit her and the smell of water from the canal reached her nose. She looked out over the city and smiled. How she loved Damascus! A flash of white cut across her vision and she raced to catch up with Altair, already several buildings ahead of her.

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_Assassin's Creed is the property of Ubisoft  
Sibylla is my original OC and only Ashley has permission to use her.  
Alice and the original concept for this particular fic belongs to Ashley Canales_


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